A Simple Matter of Mechanics
by Evil Cosmic Triplets
Summary: Fonzie loves a lot of things, but he's fairly certain that Richie Cunningham isn't one of them. He's never been known to be wrong before. (Slash)


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing an online publication of this story. This was written solely for fun.

**A/N**: This was written because I am highly suggestible. Thanks, ...:P For the sake of the nature of this fic, has just turned 18. So, no underage happenings here. This is slash, and it is smut. No real plot to be had whatsoever.

I am at a stage in my fanfiction writing where I'm working on not obsessing about every little tittle (going for the connotation as much as the denotation of this word), because it is not good for my sanity. Were I editing someone else's work, and getting paid to do so, I would obsess. Having communicated that, please feel free to send me a PM if you find a grammatical, spelling or punctuation error that you feel is important to apprise me of. Thank you! :D

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Fonzie loves motorcycles, the smell of motorcycle grease on a hot summer day, and chicks. Not necessarily in that order.

He most definitely doesn't love red-haired teenage boys who stick their freckled noses in where they don't belong - his business. Especially not when said redhead is staring at him, all vim and vinegar, cheeks pink with righteous indignation. Eyes sparking with anger. Chest heaving. Breath coming out ragged through slightly parted lips.

No, Fonzie loves the feel of a carburetor - oil slicked and heavy - in his hands. Loves the way he can coax an engine to life with a touch of his fingertips. He loves the way his motorcycle responds, thrumming, like a lover, to his touch - rousing herself when he flicks his wrist to rev the engine. Vibrations reverberate through his body, and her sound drowns out everything else, breaking the world down to its bare bones. It's just him and her and an open road to ride.

What he doesn't love is the meddlesome teen cum adult, who still suffers from an occasional bout of acne when he's nervous. He doesn't love the way Richie's hand, firm, clutches at him, and makes him feel like he's trapped. He doesn't love the heat he can feel pouring from the teen, or the way Richie trembles when they accidentally touch.

"Fonz," Richie's voice wavers and the teen bites his bottom lip. He reaches out, but his hand halts mid-air and just hangs there, shaking like he's palsied.

Fonzie loves smooth skin, long, silky hair, and lilting voices. He loves slender legs that lead all the way up to a tight, round ass.

He loves the way a woman's skin feels beneath his callused palms when she's slick with sweat. The sound of her voice screaming out his name in a primal cry, known to all men, as she comes. The feel of her muscles contracting and tightening around him as they're making love.

He loves the way a woman pouts - full lips pursing, puckering, begging him to do all sorts of naughty things a gentleman won't.

But, he's not a gentleman, never has been, never will be. He's a hood, a JD, one of those boys a girl's father keeps a shotgun handy for.

Before Mr. and Mrs. C, Arthur had never been welcome into someone else's home. He'd never been trusted not to steal them blind when they weren't looking.

It didn't set right with him at first, but he'd grown accustomed to it. Learned to adapt to being a welcome guest rather than a feared hood.

"Richie." The teen's name sticks in his dry throat and comes out as a croak. Sparks, metaphorical, fly when they touch. Fingers brush against fingers, and then they're holding hands. It's the funniest unfunny thing, and it makes Fonzie's stomach feel a little strange.

Richie's fingers are cold, his palms sweaty, and Fonzie looks at them with dumbfounded wonder. They're entwined with his. Blunt, calloused digits that 'fit' between his own.

"Fonzie." It's a heated whisper passed through lips which barely move.

Richie swallows, and Fonzie watches the teen's Adam's apple bob. The boy's as white as a sheet, his pupils are dilated to the point where Fonzie sees mostly black, and the teen's breathing hard, like he's just finished running a marathon.

Fonzie shakes himself, tries to pull away, but Richie doesn't let go.

"We can't do this," Fonzie says. He doesn't exactly know what, _this_ is, but he's certain that it's something that he and Richie shouldn't be doing while Richie's family is out.

And Fonzie's not only thinking about how he loves mapping the contours of a woman's naked body with his tongue, but also how Mr. and Mrs. C have just stepped out for the evening. Dinner and a movie. A date night.

"Why not?" Richie asks, tugging him toward the single bed. A teen's bed. Blue cotton sheets and gingham coverlet.

Fonzie has the words right there on the tip of his tongue. A multitude of reasons why they can't do this. Why he won't. Why Richie shouldn't. They're right there one moment, and then, it's as if a switch has been flicked, and his brain is no longer communicating properly with his mouth, because the words, his well-thought out protests, are gone.

They tumble to the bed, Fonzie falling on top of Richie. The teen giggles self-consciously, looking up at Fonzie through lashes so thick that they would be better suited to a woman.

They both still when Fonzie's libido finally catches up to Richie's, and then the teen gives him a shy, provocative smile. Richie wriggles beneath Fonzie, and arches slightly off the bed, rubbing his thick, jeans covered erection against Fonzie's.

"We can't," Fonzie moans, even as he mirrors Richie's slow, rhythmic movements. Their cocks rock together, ready to burst through fabric that's much too tight.

The boy's eighteen, but he's not a man yet. Has only been an adult, by letter of the law, for little under a month.

"I don't think I can stop," Richie says, and he tugs impatiently at the zipper on Fonzie's jeans. "I've wanted this for a long time now. Since the first time I saw you."

Fonzie stops and looks at the boy, assessing the truth of that statement. Richie's skin is flushed, his eyes shimmering, and his lips are parted, his mouth open and ready to be plundered.

Fonzie cups Richie's cheeks with his hands, and then he kisses the boy. Nips and pulls at the ruby, red lips with his teeth until he's coaxed Richie's mouth open. He pauses, sees eager anticipation in the teen's eyes, and then they're kissing in earnest.

Richie's fingers finally find their mark, inexpertly fondling and caressing, smearing pre-cum from Fonzie's leaking cock, over his palms and Fonzie's thick shaft. Slicking, and yanking. Thumbing and jerking.

Fonzie lazily explores the depths of Richie's mouth with his tongue, and then his lips and tongue mark a wet a path down to the boy's collarbone. Fonzie fiddles with the buttons of Richie's shirt before finally giving up and tearing it open, sending buttons flying across the room and pinging off the walls.

The boy's skin is smooth, his chest muscular, and Fonzie maps it with his mouth, rousing goose bumps and creating hickies where he's sucked too long and hard.

Richie's body responds to him in ways that no woman's ever has, and the boy's fingers on his cock are undoing him in ways he'd never have dreamed to be possible.

Richie stops his ministrations long enough to shuck his own jeans and boxers down and off, exposing his ass. Richie arches his hips a little, and, though he's never done this before, common sense prevails and Fonzie thrusts a pillow beneath Richie's hips, raising them from the bed.

They pause, panting, and stare at each other. Richie reaches for his jeans, pooled beside him, and pulls a package of condoms out. He pushes them into Fonzie's hand. When he hesitates, Richie curls shaky fingers around Fonzie's and nods.

Biting his lower lip, Fonzie works a condom loose and stretches it over his pre-cum coated, erect cock. "Lube?"

Richie jerks his head in the direction of his nightstand. "Drawer."

Fonzie is as much a virgin when it comes to this as Richie is, and he doesn't want to hurt the younger man. He wants it to be good for the both of them. He squirts some lube into the palm of his hand and slicks his fingers with it.

"Trust me?"

Wide-eyed, Richie nods, his own erection is bobbing between them, and Fonzie thumbs the head, coating his fingers with the viscous liquid that leaks from it at his touch.

"Hold on," Fonzie says when Richie moans and jerks upward, trying to create more friction between them, and relieve some of the pressure building up inside. Fonzie feels like he's about to burst too, but he's got an idea of how to make this easier for the both of them. He just hopes that it'll work.

"Let me do something first?" Fonzie begs when Richie whimpers. "I figure that, before we, you know..." he shrugs, blushing and looking away briefly as he tries to explain.

"Fonz."

There's so much need in that one syllable that it's almost his undoing. Fonzie puts theory into practice, praying that what he's thinking will work, as he coaxes Richie's legs further apart, affording him a better, unimpeded view of Richie's puckered hole.

It looks nothing like a woman's vagina, and Fonzie almost stops, but Richie is looking up at him with trust and need and something else, and it all goes straight to his dick. He couldn't stop now if he wanted to, but, he realizes that he doesn't want to stop this. He wants _this_, whatever the hell, _this_, is.

"What are you gonna do?" Richie's voice is small, nervous, but his eyes communicate trust.

"I'm going to prep you. You know, make sure you're oiled up, kinda like a chasse." Fonzie is suddenly shy and unsure, but Richie tugs on the hand holding the lube, and, when Fonzie looks at the teen, he catches Richie's smile of approval.

"Yeah, that sounds good." Richie glances at Fonzie's dick, swallows, and then stares at it unblinking. He looks up at Fonzie and nods. "Prepping sounds very, very good."

"We don't have to do this now." Fonzie bites back a groan at the very thought that Richie will back out of this now, and he holds his breath.

Richie shakes his head. "I want to do this. What do you want me to do?"

His blatant trust causes Fonzie's dick to twitch. "Just, try to relax, okay?" Richie nods, and then, thinking, Here goes nothing, Fonzie pushes an index finger into Richie's ass.

It's a strange sensation, and he can feel Richie's muscles tighten around the single digit, and the boy's sharp, pained inhale at the intrusion. He waits before pushing in further. Once he's a little more than knuckle deep, he pulls out and then works two slicked fingers in, and then a third.

He twists and wiggles his fingers, watches and listens as Richie's breath hitches and the way that Richie's dick jerks and bobs in response to something that his fingers are doing inside of the boy.

Fonzie waits for the Richie's muscles to relax and accept him, and then he experiments a little. He wants to make sure that Richie is ready before he attempts to go any further.

When Richie's back suddenly arches violently off the bed, and the boy starts to make a guttural keening sound that Fonzie has wrought from women he's had sex with before, he almost pulls his fingers free, thinking he's done something wrong. But, when Richie grabs him by the shoulders, and pushes against his fingers, as though he's fucking them, Fonzie realizes that, it's pleasure, not pain which is making Richie call out and grunt like a fucking gorilla.

Fonzie is glad that Joanie and the Cunninghams aren't home right now as Richie bites into his shoulder, and then rides his fingers. Richie reaches one hand down to his own dick, and clumsily wraps his fingers around it. Fonzie uses his free hand to help Richie and brings their mouths together in a crushing kiss.

Richie stiffens, the muscles of his ass tighten around Fonzie's fingers, and the sensation goes straight to Fonzie's dick. It's a wonder he doesn't orgasm when Richie does. The boy's cum spurts between them, coating their stomachs and chests with the thick, white substance.

Fonzie pulls his fingers out, releases Richie from the kiss, and waits a few moments for the boy to collect himself. There are tears in Richie's eyes, and he wipes at them with the back of his hand.

"Okay," Richie's voice is thick and filled with lust, "I'm ready."

Fonzie stares down at the boy, and is momentarily lost for words, because it's love that he sees.

"Aaaay," he says, and he kisses Richie. It's short and hard, and to the point. He lines his dick up to Richie's stretched hole, and, when the boy smiles and nods, he pushes in, and then just holds mid-way to his goal.

His cock is thicker than his fingers were, and Richie's muscles need time to adjust and accept him before he can push in any further. It's a matter of simple mechanics. Fonzie gets that.

So, when the muscles loosen up, just enough, he pushes further inward. He takes the act of making love slowly, keeps his eyes on Richie's.

Fonzie takes careful note of every reaction, no matter how minute. A dilation of pupils, a sharp intake of breath, a gasp, a moan, and then a widening of eyes, and a tight, pained smile that reveals a trace of pleasure. Richie is beautiful when he's being fucked.

Richie lunges upward to capture Fonzie's mouth in another heated kiss. He hoists his hips upward, and wraps his long, lithe legs around Fonzie's back. It's an intimate embrace, enabling Fonzie to sheath himself completely inside the younger man.

Everything up until this point has been slow and steady. Careful. But something loosens inside of Fonzie, and he's bucking into Richie like there's no tomorrow and the truth is, that for this, there might not be a tomorrow.

That thought spurs Fonzie on faster, and soon, the room is echoing the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh. Richie's cries of:_ More, fuck, oh god, Fonzie, fuck, fuck, oh fuck, sweet fucking...fuck,_ and Fonzie's cries of: _so good, fuck, Richie, oh Cunningham, so tight, fuck, fuck, shit, aaaaay, I think I'm gonna die_...bounce off the walls.

It ends all too soon and yet it feels like it's a lifetime later. Fonzie's thrusts speed up as his orgasm builds to a climax. Before it fully registers, Fonzie is giving one final thrust, shouting his release even as Richie cries out his own.

Fonzie rides out his orgasm inside of Richie, relishing the feel of the too tight heat which is so unlike that of being inside of a woman. Fonzie craves more even before he's fully finished and pulling out. He doesn't know if he can let this be a one night deal.

When he finally does pull out of Richie with a loud splurch, he collapses on top of the boy. Seconds, or maybe minutes, hours later, Fonzie rolls off of Richie, peels off the condom, and tosses it in the waste basket beside the bed. He pulls the sweaty, completely naked boy to himself, and kisses Richie on the forehead.

"Wow, Fonz," Richie says around a yawn, "that was…amazing."

Fonzie tucks the boy's head beneath his chin, and holds Richie close. He closes his eyes, and lets Richie's soft snores lull him to sleep.

Fonzie loves motorcycles, the smell of motorcycle grease on a hot summer day, and Richie Cunningham. And not necessarily in that order.

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Reviews are greatly appreciated.


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